


the king is dead

by narcissae



Category: All For The Game - Nora Sakavic
Genre: Angst, Canonical Character Death, Gen, M/M, Past Abuse
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2017-06-08
Updated: 2017-06-08
Packaged: 2018-11-11 07:20:10
Rating: General Audiences
Warnings: Major Character Death
Chapters: 1
Words: 791
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/11143560
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/narcissae/pseuds/narcissae
Summary: kevin, in the blow of riko's death, mourning.





	the king is dead

**Author's Note:**

> writing repetitive stories about kevin dealing with riko's death is my thing, and this is another one of them.

the king is dead. long live the boy.

the boy you love is dead. the boy who loved you is dead. the boy who broke your hand is dead. the boy who broke your heart is dead. the boy who broke you is dead. king of the playground has collapsed in a sandbox.

his cruel handsome face is frozen in perpetual serenity like you never saw on him in life. you remember how he used to crawl into your bed to sleep pressed against your side, pale hands curled in fists, always ready for a fight. you remember how he was always first to wake up, and losing the warmth of him next to you would leave you feeling so hollow as you listened to the sound of him retching in the bathroom, always nauseous with exhaustion.

the dead boy might have loved you too, even though he never said, and now you can’t ask him. his unloveable hands are clasped over white flowers. the waight of those hands in yours was the only thing in the world more grounding than the weight of an exy stick. he was the only thing in the world more grounding than exy.

kiss the dead boy on the forehead. he will never slap your face away from his again in mute horror that someone might walk in, that your blind devotion could end your blinding future.

the dead boy could never kiss you back, but he allowed you to put your mouth to his and breathe into his lungs, and he let you take, and take, and take. and then he took his own from you with his fists, and carved out his pound of flesh out of your back, arms, sides, chest. he carved out your heart and kept it on his bookshelf.

loving him cost you a little less than an arm and a leg. loving him only cost you a hand, your hand cost him his life.

in the blow of his death, all you can remember is his pale tear streaked face in the dark after a beating from the master. in the blow of his death all you can remember is the triumphant smile after slamming a goal home, fist pumping in the air. in the blow of his death, the blow of his fists seems duller.

“kevin are you okay?”

you are shaking. your world is shaking. you were always a two headed creature. riko-and-kevin. you don’t know how to be alive without him to steer the wheel. now you only see through one pair of eyes. now you are seeing on a tilt. now your world is black and red in real life.

you clench your broken fist tight. you watch your knuckles turn as white as his flowers, as white as his teeth, as white as bone sticking out of a mangled bloody mess.

you say yes, because this is the kind of love you can’t explain, because they don’t know, they won’t ever know. a part of you had always thought the two of you would die together or not at all.

a part of you had always thought somehow, this would all be okay in the end. that you’d play Court together. and then you’d take each other back, and your arm would find its way around his shoulders again, his hand would find yours again, you’d find his eyes across the evermore court again, matching triumphant grins of victory and teeth. you’d win together. you’d win so much together. you’d forgive each other and you’d learn to love him again. god. god what a nice dream that had been. you’d ascend that Olympic podium hand in unlovable hand. god.

he is on his knees in front of you, dabbing antiseptic on the places on your thighs where the master’s cane broke skin. he is in the middle of the court at evermore, spitting out blood and baby teeth, and his eyes are on fire behind swollen bruises, when he leans into Captain and says i will kill you for this one day, keep your damn title, and call me king.

he is sitting next to you in world history doodling birds in the margins of his notebook instead of taking notes. he’s on the bed across the room from you taking notes on past game tapes. he’s making tea in the communal kitchen at 3 am, and offering you a cup, and your lip still throbs from his punch but you take the mug anyway and his shoulders sag.

he is in his coffin, surrounded by mountains of white flowers. he is dead, and you will never love him again.

silly, dead boy, who will take your heart to his grave with him.


End file.
